


And a Sherlock New Year

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Date sort of, M/M, New Year's Eve, Sherlock being sneaky, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Sherlock has, once again, made police presence necessary at 221B Baker Street and Greg steps up to make certain Sherlock isn't tossed into jail on New Year's Eve.  That he finds himself tossed in a different direction entirely is something of a surprise for him and Mycroft both...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 46
Kudos: 208
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	And a Sherlock New Year

“You know I have great respect for the Holmes family, sir, but…”

“Say it.”

“Your brother’s an idiot.”

Mycroft wanted to crush his mobile between his fingers as he viewed the scene on the monitor of his computer.

“True. Did he believe he was visited by a Christmas angel and given the task of constructing a cathedral from unpurchased Christmas trees?”

Which were piled to a man’s height and a battalion’s length along Baker Street.

“That would make more sense, actually, that what he’s done. The lad got it into his head that the sap or whatnot in these trees might have some relation to a case we’re working on. So, he went about every place in London he could find that had trees or, foolishly, had a tree outdoors that he could either butcher or steal for a sample of the stuff. Mrs. Hudson refused to let him bring them indoors and a neighbor finally phoned the police when his forest of firs began blocking the pavement.”

“Thank you, Detective Inspector, for stepping in to handle this personally.”

“Not a problem, sir. I was on my way here, in truth, to have a celebratory drink before making my way home, so it wasn’t much of a bother.”

“Celebratory?”

“Ummm… I suppose that’s the right word. See out the old year and ring in the new. Maybe it isn’t, though. Celebrating a birthday or an anniversary seems reasonable, but maybe not a new year. People say it, though. Celebrating New Year’s Eve, but that might just be lazy language.”

Which is not the way I really want to come across to you, despite that being the most likely way I usually come across when speaking to you since you’re a genius. An elegant, suave genius, though the elegant and suave bits aren’t really impacted by my lack of attention to vocabulary lessons at school.

“Ah, yes. I take your point. It is not something I mark as an occasion, per se, beyond the various security concerns with crowds and the adoration of a certain type of person to use such events as a backdrop for a truly nefarious deed.”

“Yeah, we keep our eyes open for that sort of thing, too. It’s nice, I suppose, to greet the new year with a bit of style, though, preferably not an explosive device. Feels as if you’re starting something fresh, even though you’re reached midnight and not much about you is particularly fresh at the moment. Especially if you’ve been in a pub for a few hours getting righteously pissed because you’ve the next day off work and why not.”

“What a… delightful image.”

“Not really, if you frequent a lot of pubs where I spent my youth, but with age comes wisdom. Or, at least, better survival instincts that rise up and remind you what magnitude of hangover is going to greet you on your day off work after that righteous night of drinking, so you make better decisions. Do you have plans yourself, sir? I know you said you don’t mark the occasion, but any excuse for a party, and all that.”

Plans. What a laughable idea.

“No, I have no plans.”

That was said with tone. Mr. Holmes used tone. Mr. Holmes using tone was never a good thing.

“Nothing wrong with that! Mine were only to raise a toast here, then watch whatever festivities were erupting from the safety and comfort of my flat. Something I’ll get on with as soon as this business is sorted.”

“Then I shall leave you to it, Detective Inspector. Thank you, again, for ensuring my evening is not punctuated by a trip to collect Sherlock from whatever jail or dungeon has welcomed his presence.”

Greg was about to offer up a cordial farewell, but it would have been a bit of wasted breath as the call had already been terminated.

“Lestrade! I blame you for this.”

Perhaps because the call was frightened off by an approaching feral Sherlock. With pine needles in his hair.

“Blame yourself, you prat. First, for not waiting until we got the report back on that material we found on Jenkins’s body and, second, for being loony.”

“I am not loony!”

“This mountain of trees says otherwise. I’ll credit you with being thorough in your looniness, but when you get one of your notions, could you just run it by me first? I could likely have found some space for you to do… whatever it was you planned to do… without upsetting the entire street. And Mrs. Hudson. She’s properly miffed at you for causing a fuss in front of her door and giving the neighbors cause for gossip. More cause, that is, than normal. It’ll be a mess, too, once we’ve cleared away your forest. Doesn’t reflect well on her to have a messy stoop, so you’d best cancel whatever plans you had for tonight and replace them with a broom and dustbin.”

“John is ignoring me like the craven cur he is, therefore I have nothing resembling formal plans. And, for your information, Mycroft likely has minions en route to deal with this sort of thing. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it. You _were_ talking to him, weren’t you? No, don’t bother to answer. The foolish grin you had on your face told the tale.”

“I don’t have a foolish grin. I have a luminous one. So I’ve been told.”

“Your mother’s opinion is of no concern to me.”

“More than my mum, thank you very much. And yes, that was your brother. You know he’s got eyes on you and it’s best I include him in things at the start so we can make the quickest plan to keep your head out of the stocks. Besides, he _feels_ included, and that’s a good thing. I did want to ask, though… what’s your brother got against New Year’s Eve? He got a bit terse when I asked about his plans.”

“He is both antisocial and odious. The reason he has no plans should be obvious.”

“That’s shit, that is. Well, the odious part. I do admit your brother doesn’t seem the type to socialize often. Or at all. Which is a shame, really, he’s actually a good sort. Has a grand sense of humor.”

“Oh, I apologize. I must have become distracted when you started talking about a person other than Mycroft.”

“Still shit. I wager he’d be fun out on a night like this, actually. Not crushed among the drunk and shouty throngs of New Year’s Eve party-goers, but in a more quiet setting.”

“His hermit cave is very quiet, as well as malodorous, so you do have a point.”

“You’re evil, as well as loony, you know that?”

“It’s rather the opposite of evil to have a care for London’s intoxicated revelers. Imagine a fat, robe-encased hermit shambling amongst them when they are trying to make merry. Likely put them off their drink, which is the whole purpose of this nonsensical holiday for the majority of them.”

Greg glared, but it had little effect on Sherlock, given he was now focused on avoiding another glare, this one from Mrs. Hudson who was favoring him with one that could blister paint. Or a certain consulting detective’s backside.

“Evil and I wish you well sweeping until your fingers fall off.”

“Have you already forgotten the part about Mycroft’s minions?”

“I am leaving instructions that any government types that arrive, armed with military-grade hoovers, are to be politely turned away and specifically on my orders.”

“Mycroft will be furious. Which will be entertaining. And _will_ overrule you to get his way. Which means I am still not doing the cleaning. There really is no way in which this is not working in my favor. Please do proceed.”

“I am! I’m proceeding right to his office and having a little personal chat about why his ninja troops will be given the sailor’s elbow. He’ll appreciate that I’m trying to knock a little sense of responsibility into your thick skull.”

“Pfft. Mycroft will have one of his ninjas toss you out onto the pavement.”

“He won’t! In any case, I can hold my own against some weedy government drone.”

“The concept of ninjas runs rather against that of being weedy.”

“Well, I was _actually_ just going to give him a ring and ask him nicely to leave you to clean up your mess, but now I _am_ paying him a visit and you’re done for.”

“Har de har har.”

“You’ll be laughing all right. Out of the other side of your face once me and your brother are done with you. Evil, loony toddler.”

“Pbbllgghhh.”

“Nice. At least most of your spit missed my shirt.”

“It could only have improved its appearance.”

“Hey! This is new.”

“Was it woven from discarded dishrags or your football team’s flag of surrender.”

“Those are fighting words, I’ll have you know.”

“Good. Feel free to pummel my brother at will.”

Spinning on his heels, Sherlock began striding towards the door to 221B, then remembered Mrs. Hudson’s glare, spun on his heels again, and began walking towards any place other than here.

Greg, on the other hand, had a quick word with the police sergeant on scene then turned attention towards getting to Mycroft’s office before that quick word needed to be put to use. Yes, he should likely just phone, but Sherlock had put an itchy worry in his brain. Mycroft Holmes would _not_ appreciate being countermanded. Not in the least. Best do this delicately and with a personal touch. He was good at that! Being personal. Person _abl_ e. That was the right word. Being personal was what you did under the sheets and that might not be the best strategy at the moment. Actually, best put that idea straight out of his head, because there had been a few nights here and there when under-the-sheets business with Mycroft Holmes had factored heavily in his dreams. And there was little doubt that any hint of those dreams on his face when he stepped into Mycroft’s office would probably cost him a lot. Like the face hosting those hints. Mycroft very much seemed the type to fight like a cat and they loved to give clawed swipes at the faces of those who had dared cause them offense. Like genial and well-meaning police dogs who were simply a bit prone to daydreaming about sleek and seductive swipey cats…

__________

“A visitor for you, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft scowled up from the book he was reading and reflected on the clues in Anthea’s words, tone and face. All pointed to (a) an actual visitor, not a matter of work, (b) not his mother, (c) not his brother who, in any case, would simply have barged in on his own accord and (d) someone he might actually wish to see or Anthea would have tossed them out with whatever measure of politeness was appropriate for their identify and intentions. That left precisely no one, that last point notwithstanding. He was being visited by a ghost. Lovely. That was far more appropriate for Christmas Eve, not New Year’s Eve, so the new year already had much to answer for and he would take up the matter first thing in the morning with its management.

“I am far too busy to…”

“You’re reading a book you’ve read a hundred times before.”

“Your point being?”

“Feet off the desk, straighten your… you’re not wearing a tie.”

“No. That is…”

“Don’t care, because it’s perfect. Feet still off the desk, though. And lose the jacket, too.”

“Why on Earth would…”

“Do it. I can buy you twenty seconds, but no more.”

And, on that, Mycroft was left standing alone, staring at a closed door and wasted a full twelve of his seconds awash in a startlingly-large wave of confusion before shirking off his jacket and preparing for whatever his PA had decided was to come.

Which was Gregory.

“D… Detective Inspector?”

“That I am! Hello, Mr. Holmes. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“I… that is…”

Definitely intruding. Marvelous. Great way to bridge the old year and new, you stupid copper.

“If I am, I can go. I just… wanted a quick word about something but it’s not that important in the grand scheme, so…”

“No! No, of course not. Do pardon me, I… I was ruminating on a matter of work and it required a few additional mental mastications to bring it to heel. Please, have a seat. What might I do for you?”

Greg had always admired Mycroft’s office. Offices. The official and unofficial ones. This one, the unofficial one, was the one he liked best, though. It was a striking blend of ultra high-tech and comfortingly traditional. Shouldn’t work, but it did and said a lot about the person who spent more time in it than the official space the government had set aside for his use. And the chairs were amazingly comfortable. When one wasn’t stewing in a lingering bit of potential-intrusion, that is.

“Thanks! Good to get off the feet for a bit.”

“It is an activity I do endorse and rather heartily.”

See! There’s that sense of humor your brother says you don’t have. Sherlock deserves whatever Mrs. Hudson is going to give him and worse. John was smart barricading himself in their flat and refusing to even acknowledge he knew the curly-headed berk. Telling the constable who came knocking he lived in 221C and didn’t know the maniac that lived above was a stroke of genius.

“Privilege of position. Poor constables running about and I can lean against a car’s bonnet and watch the show. In any case, the reason I’m here is to… ummmmm… ask you not to send anyone to help Sherlock tidy the mess he’s made tonight.”

“Send?”

“You know… ninja minions with hoovers to put things to right. I think the lad should have to manage this himself. It’s only a bit of… well, a lot of… sweeping and carting off what he’s swept and that’s not particularly tortuous, just time-consuming. And Mrs. Hudson will make certain he does it properly or put a boot up his backside for being slothful.”

Mycroft wondered if, by removing his jacket, he had opened a portal to another dimension where all of this made sense. It had been foretold many times, by many voices, that the jacket of Mycroft Holmes was only removed when situations had fully been lost to confusion and anarchy, so this was wholly in line with existing prophecy.

“Ninjas?”

“Yeah, that was a bit of whimsy on my part, but the lad got it straight off. He’s counting on your help to keep his tender fingers from doing a stitch of work and I think that’s what’s best for him here. Make him think twice before he makes another mess that could have been avoided with a bit of thought and planning.”

Mycroft’s brain was a computer, it had been said and not always by the same persons who predicted that his jacket was the door through which Armageddon would pass should it ever leave his person. At present, that computer was analyzing the various words and sentences that had been uttered, seeking patterns that made more sense than their on-face meaning. And failing. Which was another sign of Armageddon, but that one was far more likely to be true than the removal of his jacket.

“I am rather adrift here, Detective Inspector.”

“Oh? Look fairly moored to me. Admittedly I don’t often see you without your jacket and tie, so that might be me interpreting things as you having a quiet night at your post, rather than drifting down the Thames and you tossed jacket and tie onto the shore to save them from drowning. Thought you’d do that with your shoes, too, though. They _are_ rather nice and it’d be a shame for some mudlark to find them thirty years from now, all sludgy and without a bit of gleam.”

Babbling! A mature, serious-minded Detective Inspector and he was babbling like some spotty teenager talking to his secret crush. This was tragic and for more reasons than he should have to endure after dealing with Sherlock. Should be illegal…

“I will confess, Detective Inspector, the currents are propelling me more swiftly now and I would appreciate being tossed an oar or, failing that, a flotation device. Sherlock’s ridiculous tonight seems to be the source of this mighty river, so let us begin there.”

“Yeah, absolutely. And me just wanting to… I want the lad to learn a lesson. Maybe it’s just me being a meddling old duffer, but it seems a good chance to pound a little sense into his head in a way that’s not harmful or mean, but gets the point across.”

“And you believe I stand as a roadblock to that?”

“I… wouldn’t put it quite that way, no, but I know you love him dearly and try to help him when you can. Which is right and proper for an older brother! This one time, though, even if only as a favor for me, could he make do on his own? I’d truly appreciate it.”

Try the luminous grin, Greg. It might work. At least, it might make Mycroft do something other than stare at you like a puzzling, yet brightly smiling, bug.

“I see…”

“Do you, sir? You don’t look it, to be honest.”

“Understandable. Before you phoned me, I had been in contact with Sherlock and told him most pointedly that I would not offer any assistance whatsoever in this matter.”

“You… you did?”

“Yes.”

“So, he knew when I was telling him off and saying he had to do the cleaning himself that you’d already said the same thing?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“That little shit.”

“Most assuredly.”

“And he bloody well maneuvered me into coming here so I would embarrass myself. Lovely. I’m sorry, sir. I am very, very sorry for wasting your time like this when you surely had far better things to do than listen to me natter on.”

Mycroft cast a glance at his book, set aside where a visitor might not notice it and smiled a rueful smile. His ‘better things to do’ were much the same as always. Be at the ready for unexpected activity but, otherwise, enjoy a book, a glass or two of good scotch and allow the evening to pass unremarked. It was not as if he received any invitations to celebratory gatherings that must be set aside for the cause of duty. He wouldn’t accept any that were made, in any case, because… people… but it was not as if he had even the opportunity to offer the polite refusal. Something for which his brother endlessly mocked him.

Not that Sherlock had much more active a social life, however… it was a _bit_ more active and that was continually hurled into his face like a soggy dishrag. Though, upon reflection, that dishrag had been hurled with surprisingly tepid force when they spoke earlier tonight.

“Not at all, Detective Inspector. In truth, though I habitually remain in my office in case my presence is required, I rarely do more than keep watch over the passing of the year with one eye, while turning the other to a more leisurely pursuit.”

Greg followed Mycroft’s small nod towards the book, carefully marked with a bookmark, slightly hidden behind the computer monitor.

“Then I’m sorry I interrupted that! It’s punishingly hard to find time to read. For me, at least. I’ve worked my fair share of New Year’s Eves and when you can simply enjoy the time without having to stare down at some poor chap who had the misfortune to be murdered on the last day of year… truly a blessing. I’ll have a word with Sherlock about that, sir. Being a pest and seeing your bit of free time interrupted like this. I’ll add that to the word I’ll have with him about sending me on a fool’s errand for his amusement. And the _further_ twelve words I’ll think of between now and when he descends on me again like a blue-scarfed vampire bat.”

“My brother does appreciate being thought of as vampiric. Though…”

There were few points in his life where Mycroft Holmes could claim to be uncertain. Hesitant. None were pleasant and none were for reasons paradoxically as consequential and simple as this. However, one was not Mycroft Holmes, and he most certainly _was_ despite both Mummy’s and Sherlock’s occasional wishes to the contrary, if one could not press past that and take action. After, in this case, a surreptitious, steadying breath.

“… you needn’t depart so quickly. As you can see, there is naught vying for my attention and I have a rather fine scotch to offer if you would do me the honor of accepting a glass.”

Now, remember how to smile and do it in a manner than cannot be termed predatory. Given the number of times you have imagined this man sitting with you, enjoying a drink and bit of conversation, mustering one non-threatening smile should not be the end of your physical existence. Hopefully.

“Me?”

“Yes. However, if, of course, you have other…”

“NO! No… no other plans. Like I said earlier, just me and my flat without… people. Or plans. Or scotch. I just…”

Have imagined doing something like this for so long it’s a bit shameful and now that shame is making me feel like a buffoon because I’m trying not to smile like a eager idiot and I suspect strongly I’m failing and the idiot part is shining through more brightly than the eagerness. Maybe.

“… was pleasantly surprised by the offer! And, I’d love to, thank you. Normally, it’s just me or me with a pack of whosoever might be in my local when I pop round to ring in the New Year. This is a welcome change!”

And a welcome opportunity because… maybe this can lead to more nights with a drink and a chat to share. That would be nice. More than nice. Enthralling. If that’s the right word. Which isn’t certain, by any means. This _would_ be the time my vocabulary would fail me utterly but since this is all in my head it doesn’t really count.

“Excellent. Then I shall pour for us a glass of something I feel you will enjoy and we might begin crafting a revenge plan against my brother.”

“Ooh, starting the new year with a tactical strike. Nicely done. I admire a bold maneuver.”

“Thank you. With Sherlock it is always a conundrum as to which is the better course of action, the subtle or the overt. On this occasion, I feel overt will send the better message.”

“We just have to make very certain Mrs. Hudson isn’t inconvenienced by it all. Poor woman’s suffered enough already.”

“Most assuredly. I do take pains to ensure Martha is kept as far from the blast radius as possible for all matters concerning my brother. When that fails, my pains are then to appropriately compensate her for her misery.”

“She adores chocolates from…”

“Rococo.”

“Ahhh… you’ve already bought her forgiveness with a few delectables, I take it.”

“More than a few, however, I cannot help but admire her cutthroat negotiation when the matter arises.”

“She twists my arm like a professional, true enough, and she knows my reach is fairly small. I suspect she twists your arm near to it falling off and if it’s rude enough to do the falling, beats you with the bloody stump until she gets her bonbons.”

Mycroft shocked himself by snorting out a laugh and felt a knot of tension loosen in his chest. He could do this. He could have an enjoyable drink with a positively gorgeous man, who had a delightful sense of humor and incomparable heart, and not fall squarely onto his face. He _could_ do this. And it would be a joy…

“The laundering bill for my attire afterwards is absolutely terrifying.”

Greg shocked himself by dissolving into a schoolboy giggle and felt a knot of tension loosen in his chest. He could do this. He could have an enjoyable drink with a positively breathtaking man, who had a wicked sense of humor and incomparable devotion to duty and family, and not fall squarely onto his face. He _could_ do this. And it would be amazing…

__________

“Well?”

“Could you not wait for…”

“I did not birth you to wait, Sherlock Holmes. Now, report.”

“Lestrade has gone to meet with Mycroft.”

“Good. I shall phone my source in your brother’s office and…”

“You mean his rabid PA.”

“Anthea’s rabidity makes her exceptionally-suited to manage your brother, so mind your tongue, dear boy. In any case, she will provide a report on the success or failure of this venture. Though, by my calculations, success is _far_ more probable than failure. He was reading Verne, which indicates a relaxed frame of mind. Mr. Lestrade’s wealth of talents have a far stronger chance of penetrating your brother’s walls… or other things… when Mycroft is feeling relaxed.”

“MUMMY!”

“Do not be a prude, Sherlock. It doesn’t suit you. In any case, matters appear to be in hand, so feel free to continue on with your tidying.”

“You have dispatched help?”

“As per our agreement, yes. They shall handle most of the work, but you must fill at least one sack with bark and needles yourself or I will be most cross. This _was_ your handiwork, after all.”

“Which furthered _your_ plan to send Lestrade into Mycroft’s cold, fleshy arms.”

“A side benefit.”

“A disgusting one. Do I still get my new centrifuge?”

“Yes, send along your specifications and I’ll have your father see to it. He enjoys online shopping.”

“Very well. As it appears the lorry has departed with my experimental specimens, I will make a start. But only up to the boundary of our agreement.”

“Sherlock… I expect you to fulfill your agreed-upon obligations and not try anything sneaky.”

“I will fill at least one sack with detritus.”

That it is a sack that held some constable’s purchased lunch is immaterial.

“That’s my sweet Sherlock. Be off with you, then, and I’ll ring Anthea for an update. With any luck, next New Year’s Eve will find your brother having the traditional stroke-of-midnight kiss with something other than an imaginary man.”

“Lestrade _is_ an imaginary man. He is a sleepy hound who imagines himself a man.”

“Don’t talk about your brother-in-law that way, Sherlock. He can see your silly arse warming a jail cell with none the wiser to see you bailed. Which would be a rather appropriate way to start any new year, actually.”

“That is cruel, Mummy.”

“So is life, my boy. But, if your brother actually gains the man of his many and sordid dreams, then II may change my mind on the subject.”


End file.
